


Beside you

by zeiida



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Fluff, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Gender-Neutral My Unit | Byleth, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Minor Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth, Post-Time Skip, eventually, except sylvain doesn't have a plan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-09-19 10:19:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20329528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeiida/pseuds/zeiida
Summary: “Of course you don’t know what you did, as always.” Felix’s voice was flat, eyes still hazed over with whatever the swordsman made himself suffer. “But if you’re so daft you can’t figure it out, then let me tell you. I’m done.”





	1. If you leave, then what is left of me?

**Author's Note:**

> This is not spoiler free, and it takes place after Chapter 18 in the Blue Lions route and it will journey through the remaining chapters as well! This is post A+ support for Felix and Sylvain (even if it doesn't seem like it) so if you haven't seen their supports, be cautious!

Sylvain saw _ him _ before he saw anyone else in the room. Felix standing in the back, a grave look on his face as he stared at the floor. His arms were crossed, and he looked utterly exhausted. When his hazel eyes wandered the room he noticed a couple people crowded around him, for reasons he couldn’t understand why. Sylvain groaned as he sat up, his abdomen ached as well as his head—he felt miserable. Upon inspection of himself he noticed bandages around his midsection. That’s why they crowded around him, they were concerned. 

As the former student shuffled in a bed that wasn’t his own, he tried to look around the room. The medic bay. How did he get here? Wasn’t he on the battlefield? He didn’t know—he couldn’t recall, not in this state anyways. It hurt to even think, with his head pounding like it was. What happened? 

“Sylvain!” Mercedes gasped from his side, steadying him as Sylvain adjusted to sit up right. “I wasn’t expecting you to come to till later, but this is wonderful! You weren’t doing so well—” while Mercedes’ voice was soft, it didn’t help with the head trauma that was going on. But he did appreciate how it drowned out the obnoxious ringing.

“What… what happened?” Sylvain closed his eyes, the room around him too much. He appreciated the sentiment of everyone stopping by, but he couldn’t handle it. Not right now. 

“You don’t remember?” A distinct voice piped in, definitely Annette. Yet he thought her voice sounded odd without its usual cheery tone, it didn’t sound right. 

Sylvain merely shook his head in response, taking deep breaths as he tried to focus on anything but the soreness and tiredness that weighed him down. He couldn’t recall the last time he’s felt this bad, and Sylvain has been in a lot of predicaments. 

When no answer came, he opened one of his eyes. Those who occupied the room just glanced around. Mercedes pursed her lips, then with a small sigh, she shook her head. 

“We’ll fill you in later, for now, focus on getting all the rest you can.”

“Ah—” Sylvain opened his mouth yet she gave him a stern look, or the sternest look she could throw at him. Despite healers being people of soft characters, he forgot how serious they could be when they were at work. The former student closed his mouth as his gaze dropped to the floor. He felt bad, creating more work for her. 

“Now, drink this,” she returned to his side with a cup, its contents seemingly of tea. Yet he highly doubted it was just tea. Either way he accepted the cup, blowing on the surface to cool the contents before taking a sip. After the first sip, Sylvain found himself drinking it till it was gone. It tasted like childhood memories, the happier ones. Much like the drinks that his mother used to give to him as a child after Felix and himself had run around outside for a long time. It reminded him of making snowmen with Ingrid and Dimitri whenever they visited, or long horseback rides through the trails he memorized as if they were the back of his hand.

“How did you get that?” Sylvain turned towards Mercedes, his voice carried a tone of disbelief.

“How did I get what?” She tilted her head, a habit she’s always had. 

“That drink— my mother used to make it when I was young. I couldn’t even fathom how you stirred up, especially with dire situations.” Sylvain glanced to Felix who stood in the corner, unmoving. He didn’t want to call the swordsman out, yet it was odd how he just stood there. Suddenly did Felix return the gaze with such an intensity, Sylvain would’ve thought that he committed a crime. Is that what happened? After a moment of exchange, Felix tutted and turned, walking out of the room.

“Is he okay?” Sylvain referred to Felix, eyes following all the way up until Felix slipped through the doors. Both Annette and Mercedes remained silent for a minute, Mercedes’ eyes focusing on wringing out a towel.

“He’s been rather worried about you,” Annette answered the question before Mercedes, plucking the cup from his hands. “He’s been here quite often, and if he’s not here—” 

“He’s at the training grounds?” Sylvain’s head fell back against the headboard. What ever happened, it was quite obvious Felix blamed himself for it. No doubt he was probably out there now, hacking away at some training dummy with the excuse of ‘_ I need to get stronger so it doesn’t happen again’ . _ Sylvain, despite how long he’s known the other, he can’t seem to get Felix to stop. 

“Yes…” Mercedes’ voice was quiet, more so than usual. After her response Sylvain shut his mouth and closed his eyes again. He focused on the noise of Annette and Mercedes busying themselves with the medic work. 

“Sylvain?” He opened one of his eyes to glance at Mercedes, as if telling her to continue. “Is your head feeling any better?” 

“It’s not as bad as it was before you gave me that drink, so thanks.” Sylvain stilled his tongue as he remembered he never got an answer to his earlier question. “What exactly was it?” 

“A medicinal tea.” There was definitely more to it than just medicinal tea, as Sylvain highly doubted her mother offered _ medicinal tea _ to him in his younger days. Although he didn’t push the question any further. Mercedes looked up and presumably looked to Annette and dismissed her, as Sylvain heard footsteps and the closing of a door. Sylvain shut his eye once again, taking deep breaths as he relished in the fact he wasn’t aching as bad as he was when he awoke. Though he was still pretty tired, maybe more rest would do him good. 

It seems Mercedes noticed his fatigue and observed him as he adjusted himself so he could lay down once again, making sure he didn’t strain anything. 

“Get some rest, Sylvain.” She gently patted his shoulder, “there’s water on this table right here for you if you so desire.” 

With that she dismissed herself as well, leaving Sylvain alone as her heels clicked off. The rider allowed himself to be taken into the arms of sleeping, hoping to shake off the odd feeling that clung to him so. Before he knew it he was drifting off, recounting the memories of days gone past. 

* * *

When Sylvain awoke again, it wasn’t to bustling healers, or Felix. It was to Ingrid who sat in a chair by his side. Of course she would be here, most likely to chew off his ear in a lecture he’s no doubt heard before. Except this one he’s heard a fewer amount of times, considering most of her lectures were about how Sylvain spends his free time. 

“Well that was stupid.” She spoke, her voice devoid of empathy. Yet he could see it in her eyes that she was concerned, even if she didn’t show it out right. “I mean, what were you thinking?” 

“Truthfully? I don’t know, I can’t remember what happened.” Sylvain groaned as he refused to meet her eyes. He kept his own trained on the ceiling high above them. “No one has bothered to tell me what the hell happened. I remember the battle, I remember riding in and receiving orders.” Sylvain desperately tried to recall the memories that seemed to be buried, but even when he attempted to dig them up, there was nothing. Just a vacantness that only made Sylvain embitter the situation more.

“Yes, orders that you disobeyed. Professor had told you to accompany Ashe and myself to the wooded area of the field.” 

“And?” Sylvain urged her to continue, why did it seem everyone had the story but him? It was so backwards considering he was the one that was there. 

“You had accompanied us halfway, but… I’m not quite sure what happened myself. But, before I knew it, you were riding off in the other direction in a panic. From what my understanding is, you rode off to protect Felix. So thanks for leaving us by the way.”

“You’re capable, I figured you could handle it,” Sylvain weakly chuckled, a smile creasing his lips. “Unless I was wrong?” 

“Sylvain, this isn’t a laughing matter. You could’ve died.” Her voice grew as cold, her brows furrowed as her eyes became the frigid winter winds of Faerghus. Why was that everyone’s opening lecture line to him? _ Sylvain you could’ve died. _ It’s not like he was unaware of the risks.

“But I didn’t. Have some faith—” 

“But you almost did. If Felix hadn’t been able to find Mercedes, you would’ve died. She used up the remnants of her heal spells on you.” Ingrid crossed her arms, and Sylvain knew he was in for it. How he desperately wished he could just sink into the mattress right now. “It amazes me how you still manage to be so reckless, and yet still come out alive. You’re lucky Sylvain Gautier, and I hope that luck doesn’t run out.” 

Sylvain sat in uncomfortable silence next to Ingrid, pressing his lips into a line as he tried not to let her words affect him too much. But she was right, it sounded like a rash decision, but if Sylvain was correct on his hunch of why he did it, then he doesn’t regret it. 

“Is Felix okay?” 

“What? Oh. Yeah, Felix is fine, he wasn’t hurt majorly or anything. But I suppose that is like you, worry over him even though you’re the one that was practically impaled by a lance, fell off his horse, and got a concussion.” With each word she spoke, her voice grew sterner and harder, glaring holes into the side of his head. “But, the Professor nonetheless wants to thank you. They say if you hadn’t— dumbly— rode in over there, the reinforcements in that area would’ve been too thick. You did good, for the parts you were conscious in anyways.”

“Wait, I’m confused. Are you actually _ praising _me? Or are you chastising me? Cause at this point I can’t tell.” Sylvain finally turned to her, the smile returning to his face. Ingrid made eye contact for a moment with him, then grabbed the pillow out from under his head and threw it at his face. 

“Get over yourself,” despite her harsh words earlier, amusement returned to her voice, breaking the ice barrier. The former student wished it would stay that way, knowing Ingrid hasn’t had much time to let go. The years haven’t been kind to her. They haven’t been kind to anyone. “Mercedes said that you can be dismissed from bedrest tomorrow, but you can’t push yourself. Stay away from any that causes you to exert too much energy.”

“Hey, that’s what I’m good at right? I didn’t get the name good-for-nothing for nothing.”

“That’s exactly why you got the name,” Ingrid let out another light hearted chuckle, one of her hands massaging her temple. She stood suddenly, and the burdens that Sylvain knew she carried returned to her face. At least he could relieve her for a moment. “I should get going, there’s things around the monastery that need to be fixed, things to be accounted for. But I’ll see you tomorrow, hopefully when you’re standing on your own feet.” 

“You got it, Ingrid.” 

Just like he had watched everyone else walk out, Sylvain watched until the door closed. He let out a heavy sigh, once again left with the silence that filled the room. He could sleep, but he didn’t feel in the mood to sleep. According to Mercedes, he’s been sleeping for days already, he highly doubted he needed more shut eye. What the former student really needed was the stretch his legs, he ached to get out of bed and walk around the monastery.

He supposed he could have that tomorrow.

* * *

After not using one’s legs for a couple days, as Sylvain discovered, it’s a little weird to walk again. It’s not like he _ forgot _how to walk, it just felt weird. But at the minute Mercedes said he was cleared, he practically jumped out of the bed before she explained what he can and cannot do. Immediately he left the infirmary, as he was becoming jaded with clinical sheets and medical supplies. 

Yet even as he wandered, he had no real idea where he was going. He could go eat, but the sound of food wasn’t appetizing in this current moment. The recovering rider followed where his feet led him, taking things nice and slow as he observed everything. Even though it’s only been a couple days where Sylvain was in the infirmary, somehow there was this odd feelings pooling in his gut. A feeling where he expected things to change over a couple of days, it was silly, but he couldn’t shake it. 

Before Sylvain could recognize where he was going, he was standing in the training grounds, the familiar sound of a sword deftly slashing through the silence. The sound of boots scuffling on the ground, and the sound of Felix’s voice from the grunts he gave when he would slash and jab at an invisible opponent. 

“We gotta stop meeting in here.” Sylvain chortled to himself, tension lifting from his back as he could see for himself that Felix was well. Yet the other did not stop nor did he acknowledge Sylvain’s presence, the taller of the two upon closer inspection noticed the other’s eyes were cold. Much like Ingrid’s were, but this time it was like a fog that cover his eyes. A haze that blocked out everything but sheer ice. 

“Hey, Felix? Helloooo?” Sylvain took a step forward but Felix shot him a glance that made his step falter. He snorted and ripped his gaze away, turning back towards the training dummy as his routine started again. While the older of the two had gotten used to Felix’s distant and hostile personality, this was new. The swordsman usually had _ something _ to say when he walked in, good or bad. But now… now the silence was eating at Sylvain. 

“Are we gonna clear the air here?” Sylvain tilted his head, attempting to meet Felix’s eyes once more. But it was to no avail. Felix sheathed his sword and with quick steps had checked Sylvain in the shoulder, and being already weak Sylvain stumbled a bit. His face dropped to disbelief as Felix walked out without a word. 

“Felix! Hey, come on! Wait up!” He called out after Felix, but the younger made no attempt to stop. He obviously didn’t want anything to do with Sylvain, and it stung. This was different than the words that Felix threw at him, and despite the walls and armor Sylvain had built up over the years, the one lone arrow had toppled it all down. 

The rider was left standing in the training grounds, confused and hurt. Sure, sometimes Felix needed space. But he thought with all the time he’s spent in the infirmary, Felix would at least happy to see him out. Apparently he was wrong. 

_ It’s fine, _ Sylvain thought to himself. _ It’ll be better tomorrow. He’ll be fine tomorrow, he must just be stressed. _

* * *

However, things were not fine the next day. How naive and foolish he was to think otherwise. At breakfast Sylvain immediately sat across from Felix, who was surrounded by the usual people they sat with. But before Sylvain even properly sat down, the swordsman bolted up, leaving the food on the table.

“Not hungry,” his voice was deep with a hatred that Sylvain never before seen him harbor, not in a long time anyways. Yet Felix wasn’t even addressing him, the only person he looked at before he walked away was Ingrid. He had left the dining hall before she could even open her mouth. 

“I can get him—” 

“Sylvain, no!” Ingrid blurted, and Sylvain could only blink in a sudden shock. “No.” She repeated, but this time she eased back into her seat, and her voice relaxed a bit more. He followed her gaze to the open door that Felix busted through moments prior. 

“He needs time.”

“Time?” He raised an eyebrow. 

“Time.” She nodded, not explaining any further.

“No— that was me asking what you were saying. Wh—”

“And that was me giving you an answer. He needs time. Sylvain, you have to remember that it was only a few weeks ago that he lost his father.” Sylvain pushed around the food on his plate, staring at it for a moment as silence befell the two. How could he forget? Lord Rodrigue at the end of some girl’s blade, Sylvain felt a twinge in his gut. Suddenly he wasn’t hungry.

“How much time?” Sylvain winced when he realized how insensitive his question sounded. But there was no dismissing the fact that Felix was never particularly close with this father, especially after the tragedy of Duscur. The rider remembered those days the most vidly, even if they were ten years ago. 

“As much as he needs.”

* * *

If Felix needed time, then Sylvain would give it to him. Three days had passed since then, and the cycle continued where Sylvain would enter and Felix would exit. Even if Sylvain wasn’t in pursuit of the other, his childhood friend left like he couldn’t stand even being in the same room with him. He tried giving the other time and space, but the problem only seemed to worsen. By the time a week had passed, Felix seemed to ignore his presence all together. It left a sickening feeling in Sylvain’s gut, like someone was ever so slowly pushing the lance through him again.

While Ingrid suggested that Sylvain give the swordsman space, he had a feeling that if they continued on at this rate that everything they had built, the friendship they had redeemed, it would all come crashing down.The Gautier heir was left without a single clue of what he could’ve done that was ticking Felix off so much, enough for the shorter to ignore him completely. 

It obviously wasn’t a woman related situation, because Sylvain hasn’t gone ‘gallivanting around’ for a good two weeks now. He hasn’t had the time. It wasn’t the training, before the whole accident he was training pretty regularly, if only for Felix’s sake of mind. In fact, now that he thought about it, Felix was perfectly fine before the battle. If it was Lord Rodrigue’s death that was pestering him, and causing Felix to behave in this manner, then he didn’t show it before. Was it something he did that he couldn’t remember? If only Felix would talk to him then he could get an answer. But when was anything ever that easy?

By the second week of Felix ignoring him, Sylvain couldn’t sit idle any longer. As much as Ingrid told him to wait it out, for Felix to come to him, he couldn’t do it. What did she know about Felix anyways? She rarely spoke with him unless she had too, even then they only seemed to argue. The rider wouldn’t let this sit any longer.

When the weekend came, Sylvain had gotten dressed as quickly as he could and proceeded to the training grounds. He scoured the training area, quickly finding that Felix wasn’t hiding away in here like he usually does. Leaning against one of the pillars, he gave a defeated sigh. If Felix wasn’t here now than he most likely was out.

“You’re looking for Felix, aren’t you?” Of course Ingrid would be here. Somehow she always seemed to know what he’s doing before he does it. Was he that predictable?

“What gave you that hint?” Sylvain gave her a sarcastic quip, much too frustrated with the situation at hand.

“Professor took Felix and a few others to Grondor Field this morning, they heard there was some monsters, and in preparation for the end of the month. You do remember we’re marching to Fhirdiad, right?” Right. There was still a war going on. Truly, time stopped for no one. Let alone the Gautier heir. 

“And they didn’t take me?”

“While you may physically be recovered, you’re still getting used to things again. Demonic Beasts are out of the question right now.” There it was, Ingrid’s stern motherly voice. Sylvain chewed the inside of his cheek, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Do you know when they’ll be back?”

“Late tonight.”

Damn it. Looked like he wouldn’t be getting the chance to talk with Felix after all. But it was worrisome, he knew they couldn’t stall this forever. Sylvain wasn’t blind. He knew avoidance when he saw it. Felix obviously had no desire to speak with him. Though he knew if they let it be, if they kept going on like this, the youngest Fraldarius would slip away from him again, and stick to his lonesome like he usually does. He would push Sylvain away for as long as he possibly could, like he did with everyone else, until eventually they broke.

“I thought time would’ve eased Felix at least a bit, it appears I was wrong. I hope you get this figured out,” Ingrid’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “For both of your sakes.” She offered him a smile, but he can tell it’s weighed down. He just gave her a nod and pushed off the column. He needed to distract himself. No. 

He needed to talk with Felix.

* * *

“Felix.” Sylvain’s voice was a little less than friendly, he mustered up his best confrontational voice, as he knew he couldn't hesitate. Not now. If Felix saw an opportunity to escape, he’d take it before Sylvain even had a chance to register what happened. 

By now it's almost the end of the month and Byleth has told everyone they’ll be marching to Fhirdiad come tomorrow. The atmosphere was disconsolate, to say the least, as everyone knew what was to come. They would be meeting old classmates on the battlefield yet again, and it wouldn’t be for the millenium festival. Sylvain knew it’s war, and they’d do what they need to in order to win, to push back the Empire. But he couldn’t erase the red spilled across Gronder Field, how he watched as Byleth themself tried to make former classmates retreat, only for them to insist they fight. It was sickening to remember. The smell of iron, the field that used to be green and serene, now on fire and red. It sent shivers down Sylvain’s back.

Felix made no move to acknowledge him, he just continued to sharpen the sword in his grasp with a whetstone. It was slightly intimidating, having a conversation— with someone who suddenly hated him— as they sharpened a sword.

“Look, I don’t know what I did, but I’m here to make it right.” Sylvain’s mouth felt dry as he spoke, and when Felix’s eyes land on him he felt very small. He knew Felix saw right through the defensive walls he’s put up, the facade he’s hoisted for seemingly his whole life. 

“Of course you don’t know what you did, as always.” Felix’s voice was flat, eyes still hazed over with whatever the swordsman made himself suffer. “But if you’re so daft you can’t figure it out, then let me tell you. I’m done.”

Sylvain felt the room go cold, goosebumps trailing down his arms. He would swear that his heart stopped too. Yet he just nervously glanced, side to side as if the weapons that surrounded them would spell out some answers.

“Done with what exactly?” As soon as he asked it, the former student regretted it. He really didn’t want to hear the answer, knowing Felix wouldn’t give it too him softly. No. It would come in the form of a verbal dagger to the chest.

“Done with you protecting me and treating me like I’m a child. I don’t need to be protected constantly. I can get by perfectly fine without you.” The implied message was in his words, and it wasn’t a threat, it was a promise. _ Watch me get by without you. _ “You can barely protect yourself as it is,” Felix stopped a moment from sharpening the sword, gesturing to the now recovered rider. 

“I’m done.” Felix stated firmly, placing the whetstone aside and standing up. Much like a couple weeks prior, he sheathed the swords and took bold steps towards Sylvain. “Don’t bother finding me, or trying to protect me tomorrow, because I _ won’t _ return the sentiment.” With his final words Felix scowled and shoulder checked Sylvain once again. 

“Look, I thought I could fix it, I was wrong.” When Felix left, it seemed he took everything with him. His energy, his words, and apparently whatever used to be in the spot that ached in Sylvain’s chest.

Sylvain sat down on the crate that Felix used to occupy, he put his face in his hands and elbows on his knees. What just happened? He took a shaky breath as his childhood friend’s— could he still be called that— words echoed in his head. The rider bit down on his lip, did he just lose Felix? Surely not. Surely tomorrow, during the ride out, Felix would apologize. He had to. They didn’t just reconnect only for him to sever their friendships like the training dummies he ran through. Sylvain refused to believe it. Whether or not Felix liked it, he wasn’t intending to let go. After Glenn, after Rodrigue— who’s passing was only a month ago— after everything, Sylvain refused to be the one to let go. He wasn’t going to be another casualty that Felix threw carelessly aside.

Felix didn’t deserve to be alone. Not now. Not ever. Not when they were so close to winning this damned war.

* * *

However when they started their ride out, Felix was nowhere to be found. Even a top his steed could Sylvain not find the swordsman. His grip on the reigns tightened as he clenched his jaw, at this rate he wouldn’t be able to focus. 

“Are you alright, Sylvain?” Byleth’s voice suddenly shocked the Gautier heir, jumping slightly on the saddle. He had forgotten that they too had switched to a cavalier unit, for whatever reason that was unbeknownst to him. “Idle thoughts will get you killed on the battlefield.” 

“Wise words,” Sylvain shrugged. He expected Byleth to trot off afterwards, yet they remained, their horse falling in line with his. 

“Best to steel your mind then, is it not?” They seemed amused, but Sylvain didn’t know why. He didn’t bother trying to figure it out either. “Sylvain, it’s imperative you heed my orders, at least for this battle. We cannot afford for something to fall out of place.”

“Of course Professor, but—” Sylvain struggled with his words as the former professor gave him a slight smile. 

“It’s nice to see you alive and well again Sylvain, let's keep it that way, shall we?” 

“I have no intentions of dying,” Sylvain in turn offered them a weak chortle, feeling as if for a moment he wasn’t incredibly burdened with seemingly thousands of things. 

“Good.” For a brief moment they rode in comfortable silence, the sound of horse hooves filling the gaps of words. Sylvain felt questions burn his mind and skin, threatening to slip out his throat without permission with every second that passed.

“I heard Felix and yourself are, excuse me, in a rough patch?”

“Wow, this situation seems familiar, eavesdropping on my conversations again perhaps?” Sylvain taunted, raising an eyebrow as he shot a glance at his professor. 

“If you want to label it that, then I suppose. But Felix and yourself tend to project your voice, it’s not hard to over hear.” Sylvain did see the truth to their words, and honestly he wasn’t upset that they had overheard, someone was bound to. “Maybe you should try fighting by his side.” 

Sylvain blinked, unsure of where the topic just shifted. Were they still talking about Felix and himself, because the rider always fought by the swordsman’s side. Did he not?

“Not everyone wants— _ needs _ ,” they corrected themselves, “a shield. I don’t think Felix wants you to guard him. I think… I think he just wants you to walk beside him.” Sylvain followed their gaze, and he noticed that their eyes were trained on the Great Lord who walked alongside Ashe. His gaze softened when he realized the professor was also referring to their own dynamic with Dimitri. Every since His Highness had _ awoken _, for lack of better words— and even before then— they had always been by his side. Not acting as his shield, or his follower, but as an equal. Not necessarily in title, but as an individual, they stood on the same ground and fought beside each other practically always. It was easy to see how close the two were, even a stranger could recognize it. 

Sylvain took the words and thought about them. Maybe his attempts of physically shielding Felix has exhausted the other, even if it harbored good intentions. He could see how Felix would take it as an insult to his own skills, not to mention how frequently it seemed to happen.

“But, of course, you don’t have to put those words into effect, your options are yours alone.” They shrugged and seemingly dismissed the topic, even as Sylvain clung onto every word after it was said. 

“Thanks, Professor,” Sylvain didn’t really know how to verbalize his gratitude. He wasn’t often used to thanking people, unless it was the strained politeness of high nobility. So he gave his best effort into his words. Yet his eyes fell to his horse’s mane instead of judging and analytical eyes, taking a brief moment of solace in the stillness of conversation. 

“How do you always know what to say?” The Paladin’s eyes turned to finally make contact with expectant lavender orbs. Even after all these years, it still felt like those eyes never stopped analyzing him and everything around him. Byleth simply shrugged and turned their attention back towards the trail in front of them. 

“I don’t. All I do is offer my true thoughts and for whatever reason, all of you seem to think it’s the best thing you’ve ever heard,” another smile creased their lips, if only ever so slightly. “I’ve given you all the advice I have, I do hope it helps.”

“I believe it has, once again, thank you Professor.” 

Byleth gave Sylvain a curt nod before urging their horse forward. The Paladin let his mind wander, thinking about how he’ll approach a certain swordsman next time. But for now, there was a war at hand. First, he had to make it through alive, and then, and only then, could he fix what was shattered.


	2. Can't we go back to how it used to be?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He should be rejoicing, he knows that. They took the capital back, and yet he still feels empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it wasn't clear! There are spoilers ahead, this takes place just after chapter 18 and before 19 for the Blue Lions route.

Music weaved through the air as people rejoiced everywhere. Everyone in the room wore a bright smile as they danced away the night. Food kept pouring in, from where Sylvain didn’t know, everyone was feasting until they could not possibly eat anymore.

Though his own tired brown eyes merely overlooked the people, every joint in his body aching. They had just defeated Cornelia, how was the army dancing as if they never slaughtered people before them? Though Sylvain supposed everyone deserved a small piece of happiness, even if it was only temporary. Truly the scene before him was a celebration fit for the king coming home. If this celebration was simply in honor of His Highness returning, then he wondered what the celebration for the end of the war would look like.

  
  


He hoped he would be alive to see it. They still had a while to go before Fodlan was truly at peace. They had to tackle— and very well kill— Edelgard, and to do that they needed Enbarr, and to take Enbarr they needed Fort Merceus. The end of this feud still seemed to be so far away. But tonight was not the night to worry about that, tonight was the night to relax and rejoice, for the king has come home.

Yet when Sylvain looked around, he could not spot anyone who he’d prefer to spend time with. Besides, it looked like all his companions were talking with others already. Here he stood, a glass of wine in his hand that he hasn’t even taken a single sip from. The rider simply rotated his wrist as he gripped the top of the glass, watching as the liquid inside spun in cycles. It was more entertaining than watching others laugh away their pain. He wished he could do the same.

“Oh? Is that Sylvain Gautier? And is he alone with no woman to dance with?” Sylvain turned to see Ingrid with a smile on her face and a hand on her hip. “That’s a new one.” 

“Ha ha,” he gave her a short and fake laugh, and an eye roll to accompany it. Truth be said, he wasn’t in the mood to dance with any of the maidens. He was still trying to sort through the odd ache in his chest. As much as he feigned ignorance to where it came from, a part of him knew exactly the cause.

“To think you would be the one sitting on the side lines idle during a celebration.” Ingrid almost seemed concerned for him, but at the same time she seemed to be trying to lighten the mood. 

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m just as happy as the next person, but I just… I don’t know, Ingrid. It just doesn’t feel right. Something is missing.” Ever since the end of the battle and the start of the celebration and festivities, something felt off. The feeling only amplified when he looked upon other friends talking amicably with those they trusted. Not that he didn’t find Ingrid nice to talk to, or that he didn’t trust her, but she wasn’t the person that seemed to be able to fill the void.

“More like someone.” Her face seemed knowing, as if she already knew what Sylvain was thinking. Which she probably did, after all the years she had known him. The paladin froze where he stood, almost afraid to move. He stopped rotating the wine glass, watching the red drink still. “You know what you want to do.” 

“But I shouldn’t.” Sylvain sighed, “I really shouldn’t.”

“When has that ever stopped you?” Ingrid’s voice grew ever more annoyed, surely by now her brows were furrowed and arms were crossed. He didn’t need to look to confirm that was the case. “You shouldn’t have flirted with my grandmother—” 

“Ingrid!” Sylvain’s face snapped towards where Ingrid stood, a humorous smile on her face. He bristled as he felt an embarrassed warmth come to his cheeks. “Enough of that already, you’ve brought it up quite enough.”

“My point stands.” She gestured to the rider himself. “You know what you want to do, what’s holding you back all of a sudden?” 

“I’ve never seen him so angry before, not in a long time. I don’t think I’m the person he wants to see right now.” Sylvain’s voice dropped, barely audible over the music that consumed the atmosphere. Amongst all the laughing voices and the dancing footsteps, the Gautier heir was overshadowed, standing still in the back. It was amazing Ingrid found him to begin with. 

“That’s the thing, Felix trusts you the most out of any of us— don’t ask me why. As you’ve broken many of your promises to us, barely put in effort, treat women—” 

“Ingrid, not helping,” Sylvain groaned, rather preferring to spare himself a lecture.

“Pardon me.” She cleared her throat and then gave into a sigh. “But for whatever reason, when it comes to him, you keep every promise you make him.” 

“What’s your point?” The taller tilted his head, confused as he observed Ingrid scrunch her nose. 

“Can you really not see it? The one who specializes in  _ love _ .” She airquoted the word love. Sylvain knew she grew impatient but truly he didn’t know what she was growing impatient with. It seemed his face was enough of an answer for her. “You put more effort into your relationship with him than anything else you do. Maybe you… maybe you care for Felix more than you realize.” 

Sylvain let it sink in, and as soon as he did, he felt a twinge in his chest. He didn’t need to be told twice— no, he already knew. He just needed someone to remind him that the feelings were already there. Yet the Gautier heir only shrunk where he stood, eyes guiltily falling to the ground. He traced the pattern of the castle floors with his eyes, finding more comfort there than Ingrid’s words.

“ _ No _ .” His answer was firm, yet as soon as the denial fell from his mouth, his chest told him otherwise. Something churned and all of a sudden the new scar on his abdomen burned.  _ You don’t take lances for just anyone, _ apart of him chided, yet Sylvain drowned it out.

“It’s okay, Sylvain.  _ It’s okay. _ ” Ingrid’s voice was closer. The paladin wasn’t even aware that he had closed his eyes, but when he opened them she stood by his side. One of her hands was on his, ensuring he didn’t drop the glass remaining in his grasp. 

“It’s not whether or not it’s okay, it’s the fact that if he knew, if Felix even felt the slightest hint of my feelings, we both know how he’d react.” 

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes! Yes I do! If he  _ knew, _ it wouldn’t be happy ever after, no, he would  _ run _ . Just like he does from everyone else that had feelings for him, because that’s what  _ he does _ ! You said it yourself, I know him best. I know he would run.” Sylvain pressed a gloved palm to to one of his eyes. As soon as Ingrid took the glass from his free hand, he pressed that one too to his other eye. His breath hitched when he felt a gentle touch to his shoulder, as if it was too gentle to be Ingrid. 

“You’re saying that to protect yourself. We both know you don’t want to lose him.” 

Sylvain removed his hands, head falling back as his eyes closed. He knew she was right, as she always was. How has she been doing this for so many years? Finding Sylvain when he seemed to be running and setting him straight. He ought to thank her seriously one of these days. 

“He’s not even here.”

“Excuses. You know exactly where he is.”

The rider gave into a weak chuckle, placing his hands on the back of his head and shifting his weight. 

“I suppose I do.” Sylvain took a deep breath and went to walk past Ingrid, yet she grabbed his wrist. When she spoke he almost jumped at her words. 

“Take care of him, of Felix.” Her voice was much softer. She was wishing him luck. Yet Sylvain only offered her a smile as he gently pulled his wrist from her grasp. 

“I don’t need to…” Byleth’s words rung in his head, recalling them as he reviewed every word. He didn’t need a shield, nor did he need a retainer in the back. “He can already protect himself.” 

His words seemed to satisfy Ingrid, and rather satisfied with himself Sylvain turned on his heel and exited the ballroom. This party wasn’t his type anyways. 

* * *

Despite all the locations that Sylvain has visited, the training grounds always remained the same. The same sewn training dummies, the same weapons available. Here, it was easy to forget that they were in Fhirdiad. Maybe that’s why Felix came here, as the rider knew the swordsman wanted to push aside most of their childhood memories. 

When he entered, the shorter either ignored him or never noticed him. His hair was wild, strands falling out of the pony tail. There was some hair plastered to his forehead no doubt from sweat. He had shed his overcoat and cape, a bold statement considering Kingdom weather. He only remained in the black sweater, teal pants, and his boots he so regularly bore. 

With determination, Sylvain grabbed a lance off one of the racks. It different than the Lance of Ruin, which Byleth entrusted him to weild. It would do though, given that Felix himself was only using one of the training swords. Honestly, Felix should’ve known better than to spar against a lifeless training dummy. It couldn’t offer him anything but knowledge that he already knew. 

When Felix walked away, back turned to the dummy, Sylvain stepped in. Apparently Felix hadn’t been paying attention to him, because Sylvain noticed the slight widening of his eyes in shock. 

“Let’s talk.” Sylvain shrugged, hoping to quell any anger that the shorter noble—  _ soldier—  _ had built up. 

“Let’s not.” Felix’s grip on the hilt tightened, brows now furrowing. There it was again. The haze. The haze that Sylvain hated. It drowned out the true color of the only Fraldarius’ eyes, and he  _ hated _ it. Sure they were usually tired, and sometimes angry, but they were never  _ devoid  _ of anything.

“Then let’s fight,” Sylvain brough the lance in front of himself, both hands gripping the shaft. His eyes immediately studied the other’s movements. 

“Now you’re talking.” Felix wasted no time in lunging at him, a powerful strike down that Sylvain had noticed him perform quite a bit. It was his usual opening, and Sylvain remembered the swordsman tried it against Dimitri back in their academy days. But just like the new crowned king, Sylvain used the pole to stop the swing, pushing back against the sword. 

While Felix was faster than Sylvain, the rider has always been stronger. Even when they were younger. He remembered the racing, the arm wrestles, the—. 

A sword pierced the air by his ear ripped him from his thoughts. He can’t afford idleness. Sylvain scrambled from his pondering and adjusted his stance. He needed to keep Felix away from him, as the paladin had never been too good at close combat. Desperate to create space between the two of them, Sylvain retreated, and quickly threw fire that kept Felix from advancing. 

The swordsman hissed, barely avoiding the fire as it scorched the side of his leg, yet it didn’t break the fabric. Sylvain took the opportunity, giving up his guard and extending forward he jabbed the dull end to the swordsman's abdomen. It was easier to go for the abdomen than the chest, Sylvain hac discovered, especially in training when there was no real blades involved. But with force, the wood would still leave a mark. He couldn’t afford to let his guard down, as Felix could probably do a number on him, even with just a mere training sword. 

As Felix hesitated from the blow, Sylvain took his chance and boldly went to strike again. He aimed to jab the shoulder, hoping the shorter’s reflexes would make him drop the sword. Though the chance never came as a thunder crackled in Felix’s hand. It quickly crossed the air and struck the paladin, he’d never been more thankful that he wasn’t wearing his usual armor. Yet the spell stopped Sylvain where he stood, shaking his head as he tried to focus again. As much as Sylvain tried to tighten his grip on the lance, his body failed him as he needed time to recuperate. Getting hit by electricity, no matter how small, was never a good thing. 

“I told you—” Felix started, but stopped as the tip grazed Sylvain’s cheek. “To leave me alone. Give me space!” The paladin was back to trying to recover with the close distance, he needed to escape the sword’s range. Another fire placed in Felix’s way allowed him that space, this time Sylvain put more force into the thrust forward, making contact with Felix’s sword arm. The swordsman stumbled, the training sword falling just like Sylvain had hoped. As much as Sylvain would like to pride himself in his victory, he knew that Felix was most likely just tired from being out here so long. As well as so soon after a major battle, he highly doubted all of Felix’s wounds were healed.

Felix seemed to understand that he lost, but he didn’t any anything. Instead he clutched his shoulder, and Sylvain felt a panic arise. Had he used too much force? The rider quelled his thoughts, Felix knew his own caps to his abilities. 

“I gave you space just now.” Sylvain wiped the sweat with a forearm, panting as he tried to regain his breath. Felix sniffed, giving him a cold glare. 

“You know what I meant. But of course your insensate face would come around, because you don’t know how to keep out of other people’s lives!” Felix hissed, nose scrunching as he spoke. “I don’t need your protection like a dainty maiden. I’m  _ sick _ of it.” 

“That wasn’t my intention Felix— it never was. I didn’t mean to make it seem like your fighting was inferior—” Sylvain stumbled on his words, trying to push them out faster than Felix could rebut and leave. 

“If you keep shielding people unnecessarily then you will die,” Felix interrupted, his hand clutching his own shoulder more. “I’m so  _ sick  _ of people becoming shields! And for what?! The boar? The future? To be an ideal knight? I will not have you die so insensibly for a half wit ideal for me.” Felix spat his words out like a poison, as if his body was trying to eject all of it. Sylvain wondered how long he had bottled it. Long before Lord Rodrigue, that was for sure. As Felix was no doubt mentioning his brother, Glenn, who Ingrid praised to be the ideal knight.

“I thought if I dismissed you, if I pushed you away enough you’d leave. You’d find someone else to shield and protect. The Professor perhaps, someone— anyone else. If you insisted on dying in such a wasteful death, then I would not be the cause or be around to watch it happen.” Felix walked away, yet even as he turned away the force in his voice allowed Sylvain to hear every word loud and clear. 

“Felix—” Sylvain hesitated on his words but he knew he wouldn’t have much more time to talk with the other. The shorter picked up his cape and overcoat with his good arm, the fabrics nearly dragging on the ground. “Then let me fight alongside you.” 

“Excuse me?” Felix met his eyes once again, one of his eyebrows raised in an inquiring glance. 

“Let me fight alongside you. Not as a shield, but as your friend.” The word friend pained Sylvain more than he thought it would. He felt guilty, knowing that it wasn’t the full truth he was telling, but Felix didn’t need to know that. Not yet. “No more jumping in front of you.” 

“I don’t understand,” Felix’s face contorted into confusion, slightly leaning forward. 

“Like the Professor and His Highness. Haven’t you noticed how they’re always together, they fight side by side yet neither is a shield? They cover… and well, compliment each other.” Sylvain shrugged, placing a hand on his hip. “I don’t want to give up what we have, Felix, not after we built it back up again.” 

The sole Fraldarius remained silent, his brown eyes falling to the ground. His jaw was clenched, a sure fire sign he was in thought.

“If this whole scenario is any example, then even if I say no you’ll keep coming around anyways.” Felix shook his head, probably in disbelief. But it wasn’t like he was wrong.

“I’ll keep coming around until you believe me, and until you trust me again.” Sylvain let an airy chuckle escape his lips, a small smile creasing his eyes. “After all I made a promise, did I not?” 

“You break all your promises.” 

“Not the ones I make to you.” Sylvain shook his head, “after all, I have to keep my word to  _ someone  _ around here.” 

“Sylvain Gautier you are so intractable.” Felix gave him a tired look, but Sylvain could see a hint of a smile on his face. Even if it was small, he would take it. It was better than the haze the clouded the other’s eyes.

“Oh? Is Felix back with the i words? Oh how I’ve missed them,” Sylvain’s smile grew, creasing his eyes as he walked by Felix’s side, slinging an arm around the swordsman’s shoulders. Though when Felix flinched, face scrunching in pain the rider quickly retracted. “My bad, uh, let’s get you healed.” 

Felix’s eyes fluttered in annoyance, his head shaking as the smile disappeared. The shorter started off without him, heading the opposite way of the infirmary. Though given the party going on, Sylvain assumed that Mercedes would be off somewhere else anyways.

“It’s just gonna bruise.”

“And be sore,” Sylvain pointed out.

“Then sore it shall be. I don’t need to see a healer, it’s a waste of their abilities and my time,” Felix called back and Sylvain jogged to catch up with the other. He matched his pace with the swordsman, yet neither spoke a word. The rider stole glances from the other out of the corner of his eye. He observed how Felix seemed more tired than usual, and it wasn’t just from their little spar.

“I don’t need an escort either,” Felix grumbled, interrupting their comfortable silence. 

“I know.” Sylvain nodded, agreeing with the other, placing his hands behind his head. “I just want to walk with you.”

“Suit yourself,” Felix dismissed the conversation. 

“I was planning on it.”

* * *

The next morning, after the celebration, Byleth and Dimitri announced the plans for the next month. At the end of the month they were marching out for Alliance territory. It was a shock, considering that he was definitely expecting Fort Merceus, but it appeared what ever situation that Claude had wedged himself in was in need of immediate assistance. Sylvain would be lying if he said he wasn’t at least a little bit anxious, knowing by no means that the upcoming battle was going to be an easy fight. It was both sides fighting in desperation, tooth and nail, anything to gain the upperhand. 

He tried not to focus on that too much, instead he grounded himself to breakfast in front of him. For once, Felix didn’t run away, yet they weren’t exactly conversing either. But the air wasn’t awkward by any means, at least for them. Next to them it seemed like Mercedes and Anette were suffocating in the silence. They were whispering to each other, as if their words reached Felix or Sylvain’s ears, a table would flip over and a brawl would start out. 

Which was to be expected, considering exactly that happened last week. Without the brawl part. 

The rest of breakfast continued on, and Sylvain felt a smile when Felix waited around for him. The rider fell into step alongside the swordsman as they wandered the monastery. With one hand, the paladin scratched the back of his other hand idly. 

“Can you believe we march to Derdriu at the end of the month?” Sylvain offered the other, attempting to make small talk as they leisurely paced themselves to no doubt the training grounds. The Gautier heir has never seen someone spend so much time in the training grounds as Felix. The only thing that came close was Linhardt and his room, but that was at least understandable. 

Yet to his surprise they turned, and Sylvain recognized that they were on their way to town. 

“It’s just another battle, the war isn’t over. It only gets harder from here, unless afterwards Alliance forces join our cause.” Felix shrugged, a hand resting on the hilt of the sword that hung at his side. When Sylvain looked at him, the other appeared to be chewing the inside of his cheek. 

“Well, when it does come, will you allow me by your side this time? You never gave me an answer.” Sylvain’s gaze turned towards the path. It was odd to see it empty, as usually there were some people travelling from one to the other. Maybe it was too early, as Sylvain always strolled this way after lunch or at night. 

“Do what you wish.” Sylvain took the answer, as that was the closest thing he was going to get to a yes. He knew Felix would never admit it, not now and certainly not ever, no matter how old they were. “Not like I can stop your one way mind anyways.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Sylvain gave an amused huff of air, taking the chance to sling and arm around Felix who simply brushed it off.

“Just don’t get killed out there. I mean it Sylvain. I won’t have you dying under my name.” Felix’s tone grew more serious, voice heavy with something that the rider didn’t know if he could lift. No matter how much he wanted to, Felix never let anyone carry his troubles, not even Sylvain. 

Well that’s not true. When they were younger, the two equally shared in their woes. Sylvain would talk with Felix about getting shoved and left in a well— all things Miklan related really, and Felix would come to him for just about anything. The creak in the floorboards that spooked him everytime he walked on it, when he lost to Dimitri, when Glenn would push him away because of his duties. All of it. But now Felix never came to him for any other reason to train or to dump sweets that were gifted to him onto Sylvain. 

“I won’t Felix, I mean it. I promised you I would die with you, as long as you stand I’ll still be here. For as long—” Sylvain hesitated when Felix’s face scrunched up. 

“Ugh, don’t try and use the same language you use to woo women to talk to me,” Felix rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest in annoyance. 

“I was being genuine!” 

“Sure you were, just like you said you were being genuine with all the maidens that you’ve tossed aside.”

“There is no pleasing you, is there?”

“Oh there is, but you’re trying in the ways as you would with women.” Felix shrugged, now having lost interest in the conversation. But Sylvain supposed it was his fault, as Felix always had favoured to the point conversations rather than embellished words.

“Right... but just know that I meant it, truly.” Sylvain stopped, catching Felix’s wrist, making the other jump and by instinct grab the sword on his hip once again. “It’s you and me, Felix.”

Felix hesitated, he opened his mouth and was quick to close it. Sylvain felt a smile as he could see a small fluster build up on the other’s face.

“I’ll believe you when we finish this war, together.” Felix ripped his wrist from Sylvain’s grasp and stalked on ahead. Even though Felix had run up ahead, Sylvain found himself smiling. 

_ Together, huh?  _ Sylvain mused to himself, watching Felix’s form retreat. He liked the sound of that. 

“Together.” He repeated to himself. They would finish this war together, right by each other's side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and to the people who subbed the story! I'm still studying the characters so forgive me if they're out of character;;;


	3. Longer than either of us could ever know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We fought this whole war to pursue our side of beliefs, right?” Mercedes’ eyebrows furrowed in a rare look of something akin to annoyance. “We all deserve to chase our happiness and peace. You know you’re happiest when… when you’re by his side. Stop trying to find a reason to ruin that for yourself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The war is now over, so spoilers for end game of the Blue Lions route if you've somehow got this far and didn't know.

_ It’s over. _ Sylvain heaved, clutching the Lance of Ruin in his gauntlet shielded hand. He watched as Dimitri walked out into the light, covered in blood just like the rest of them. He looked like no king standing before them, but instead an exhausted fellow soldier. A smile widened on the rider’s face. Dimitri, stood alongside a proud— and seemingly near tears— Byleth. The Faerghus king raised a fist into the air, and Sylvain knew.  _ It was over _ . He couldn’t help the whoop that was ripped from his throat, lance raised to the sky in a bone-weary joy. It seemed others joined him in a triumphant sound out, and in the distance he could see someone waving the banner of the Kingdom victoriously. 

The conclusion of five long years finally drawing to a close, drawing to a brighter future.

Though as quickly as the ecstatic and exhausted cries rang out into the atmosphere, Sylvain’s heart filled with worry. Storing the lance, Sylvain gripped the reigns of his steed. Before he knew it, hazel eyes were scanning for a familiar deep blue that could only belong to one person. His mouth fell agape when he found what he wanted. He saw  _ him _ before he saw anyone else in that area. He seemed exhausted, but other than that, he seemed fine, as fine as he could be anyways. But what was Sylvain to expect? He was capable after all. 

Most of the battle they had fought together, but they had fought together the whole way here. Since Derdriu, Sylvain had resigned himself from his position as a shield. If he dared say so himself, they were a good team, definitely a force to be reckoned with. It seemed that Byleth, too, had noticed this, and had assigned them together every time they charged out. They enhanced each other’s strengths, and covered each other’s weak spots, a seemingly flawless system. Sylvain had never felt more relaxed when fighting, which was an odd statement to think about, but it was true. 

But when they stormed Edelgard, in all her hideous glory and tempered fit of rage of a demonic beast, Sylvain and Felix had no choice but to part. Felix went with Mercedes and Annette, while Sylvain himself had travelled with Ingrid and Ashe. There was very little words exchanged between them, they received the order from Byleth, and with an eye glance they established a mutual agreement with one condition. 

_ Don’t die out there.  _

That was all they needed. Sylvain rode off in one direction, offering Ashe a ride as Felix followed Mercedes and Annette. He’d be fine, he knew he would be. 

As soon as Sylvain came within distance, he dismounted from the war steed and was running to the swordsman. Felix was given very little time to react— very little time to dodge or run— before he was brought into a crushing embrace.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Felix sputtered, yet he didn’t push against Sylvain. That being said, he didn’t exactly hug back either. But Sylvain was too intoxicated off euphoria that he needed this moment more than he needed air. If Felix didn’t want a  _ hug _ at the end of a war, then he would never want a hug at any other point in time. As much as it pained him to think about, he knew it was true so he desperately clung to the Fraldarius.

“We did it. We made it. It’s over.” The paladin felt his cheeks ache from how wide they were stretched, as if his grin was too big. It was a silent moment between the two, and suddenly did Sylvain feel a single arm wrap around him. “It’s  _ over _ ,” Sylvain weakly repeated himself, just like his thoughts. 

“Yeah,” he paused, voice softer than he had ever heard Felix speak before. If Sylvain had been talking, or had anyone else been talking, he swore he would’ve missed it. “Yeah, I guess we did do it, huh?” 

Sylvain clutched the shorter soldier tighter, not ready to let go just yet. 

“I kept my promise, Felix.”

“I noticed.” 

“And you kept yours.” Sylvain was slightly leaning onto Felix, not trusting himself to hold himself up right. But it was also cruel, considering he weighed much more than the sole Fraldarius, taking into account of the armor he bore. 

“Obviously,” Felix’s response came out as practically a scoff. Yet Sylvain didn’t seem to care, as Felix finally start to gently returned the embrace. “But you still have awhile before you can tell me you kept that promise, you dolt.”

“What?” Sylvain pulled away, head tilted. Now that he got a closer inspection of his childhood friend, he noticed that there was dried blood smeared across his cheek. He prayed that it belonged to one of their opponents that had been cut down on the field, yet he didn’t dare ask. 

“Unless you plan on both of us dying right now, then you can’t say you kept that promise.” Felix’s eyes were averted to the one of the columns, as if he was talking to it instead. Sylvain might’ve been annoyed had he not learned long ago that averting his gaze was one of Felix’s gestures to suggest he was embarrassed. 

Sylvain blinked a couple of times, a rather shocked look on his face. But quickly did it dissipate and became replaced with a weight free laugh. He raised his hands and put them on the back of his head, slightly swaying. However, he didn’t know if the sway was intentional or not, considering he couldn’t really  _ feel  _ his legs. 

“I suppose you’re right, well then I eat my words. Mark that down, I’m not saying it again.” Sylvain japed, still in disbelief. Felix rolled his eyes and lightly shoved at the rider’s shoulder, but there wasn’t enough force to disturb any wounds that would’ve happened after their parting. 

“Sylvain Gautier eating his words? Never heard of it.” Felix shook his head in amusement. 

When Sylvain had opened his mouth, he was quickly interrupted. A rather frazzled and obviously stressed professor approached the two. However the quickest thing that Sylvain noted was that their hand wasn’t on the hilt of the sword. The sword that had been drawn practically everywhere, given not a moment to rest in this forsaken war. Instead their hand was covering the bottom half of their face.

“Sylvain, I need you to take some of the wounded, there’s still a whole mess we have to fix.” They pinched the bridge of their nose with their other hand, eyes squeezed shut. If he had to guess, the Gautier heir would assume they were fighting back some headache. 

The paladin gave a glance to the swordsman, with the tiniest nod Sylvain took a deep breath and turned on his heel. He supposed there was a whole mess to take care of before there truly was peace. They finished the fight but now they had to fix the remains. Yet Sylvain stopped and turned, glancing back to the professor who was still pressing a hand to the bottom of their nose as if it was bleeding. 

“Hey, hop on,” Sylvain grabbed the reins of the horse, leading the war horse closer to the professor who only raised an eyebrow. “You look like you need to get there too.” 

“I’m fine, thank you for the concern but—” they started, voice slightly muffled by their hand. That was one nasty nosebleed, did they get belted in the face by the Emperor? Sylvain had to hold back a snort when he heard Felix whisper  _ bullshit _ . He held up a spare hand to cut the professor short.

“Come on, no need for modesty, besides His Highness would throw a hissy fit if I left you here in this state.” Sylvain extended a hand which they hesitantly took. The paladin helped the former professor into the saddle before he himself got settled. He questioned where their own steed went, he hoped for their sake that it hadn’t fallen in battle, but he never vocalized it. 

“Felix, find any stragglers in this area, escort them back and have them regroup.” Byleth ordered, and Felix’s face returned to his usual indifferent glance. Once the swordsman took off, Sylvain urged his horse forward. The rider, in truth, had pressured the tactician to come with him because he was going to thank them. Yet, in all their mind reading glory, beat him to the topic. 

“I see Felix and yourself managed to mend,” their voice almost seemed coy. But what they were being coy about, he wasn’t quite sure. 

“If you mean he’s calling me insatiable again, then yes.” Sylvain shrugged, hands on the reins as he maneuvered steadily around abandoned equipment. As much as the rider pushed a smile into his words, Byleth didn’t seem to take it. They didn’t respond, leaving Sylvain to chew the inside of his cheek as he pondered his words. They were buzzing around in his mind, itching to be said, yet as heavy as the temptation was, he didn’t know  _ how _ to say it. He was as lost as he was during their ride out to Fhirdiad, despite how much he’d found since then.

“Sylvain, you’re thinking way too hard,” they grumbled, almost hard to hear considering their back was to his chest.

“Ah, sorry, Professor,” he chuckled as if that served as an apology. Though as soon as he was done, he was back to square one. The Gautier heir looked out ahead, as he did, he saw the makeshift infirmary, healers bustling about. They were overworked, considering how many wounded there were. It made Sylvain wonder how Mercedes was putting up. 

As they approached the designation, Byleth started to shift so they could slip off the saddle. When Sylvain brought the horse to a steady stop, the professor— with aid— eased off the war horse. 

“Thank you, Professor. For everything. I mean it.” Hazel eyes met judging lavender orbs once again. But even with their mouth covered, Sylvain could see the crease of their eyes, a smile hidden under their palm.

“You don’t have to thank me Sylvain, you did it all yourself.” They shrugged, and with that a bishop was quick to claim Byleth’s attention. The paladin pondered their words for a moment, and for a brief second his head lolled downward, a smile returning. As much as Sylvain would love to give into rejoicing, there were still fellow soldiers who needed help. With a click of his mouth, the steed was moving forward once again.

After the wounded were tended to, they would head back to the monastery. No doubt to celebrate. Though there was no point in wistfully thinking about the celebration now, he had a job to do first. 

* * *

It was over.  _ It was over. _ It’s been a few days since they retreated back to the monastery from the former Adrestia capital, and he still couldn’t believe— let alone utter— the words. No matter how many times Sylvain repeated that phrase to himself, it didn’t sit right on his tongue. Five years of suffering ended in seemingly less than a year? He couldn’t even begin to comprehend how it all happened—despite the fact he was there— it all felt as if it flashed before his eyes before he could truly grasp it. Though there was no point in dwelling on that, considering the present that was unfolding before him. He supposed that he would grow used to it in the coming days, in the coming future.

Heartfelt laughter and cries, joyous music resonated all over the room. For a post war scene, it felt awfully bright. Even the blacks of clothes and gray sheen of metal emminated an exuberant and bright shimmer as if they were the sun’s rays. But the soldier— the  _ former _ soldier, after all there was no more war to fight— supposed the attitude that encased the room— the  _ city—  _ was infectious because Sylvain felt a smile stretch his own lips without permission.

He stood back in amusement, standing back towards the walls of the room. He truly couldn’t begin to fathom how these soldiers were dancing. Sylvain’s own legs were killing him, and he wasn’t even a foot soldier. He was a cavalry unit. Hazel eyes swept through the crowd, stopping when they spotted a tall blond haired man dancing with their very own professor. The two were sharing in each other's company, smiling and laughing much like the rest of the people.

_ He deserves it, they both do, _ Sylvain smiled to himself. His eyes tracked them for a bit longer, and the longer he watched, the more he envied them. He didn’t envy His Highness for dancing with their professor, or vice versa, but he envied the fact they got to revel in each other's presence.

Longing eyes overlooked the crowd once more. The one person he wanted to celebrate this war’s end with wasn't here. Of course he wasn’t, and Sylvain was foolish to even have a glimmer of hope he would be here. Even if the one person he would  _ love _ to spend the evening with— to drown in the music and the crowd of people— was there, he wouldn’t want to be whisked away to the dance floor. However Sylvain was okay with that, even if they weren’t dancing their feet off. He just wanted to hear his voice, to speak without thinking about an impending doom coming, without feeling eternal flames licking at his heels. The Gautier heir was much too tired to dance anyways. 

Truth be told, he noticed Felix as soon as he entered. Though he had been too scared to make his way over to the other, for whatever reason. The future Margrave had noticed when Felix slipped away, no doubt to find some other place that wasn’t as crowded. 

“Jealousy is  _ not _ a good look for you.” 

Sylvain’s head fell back, closing his eyes as he let out an amused huff. Of course. As Sylvain’s problems had somehow recently become Ingrid’s business. He wondered when that officially happened, considering he didn’t remember ever giving her explicit permission. 

“I don’t have  _ any _ idea what you’re talking about. What do  _ I _ have to be jealous about?” Sylvain crossed his arms, turning to Ingrid. It was odd, seeing her without the armor she usually bore. What was even odder was to feel smaller, as the paladin himself no longer carried the extra weight of protection. Everything felt  _ off _ , and not just physically. 

“You’re terrible at feigning ignorance. You have been since we were children.” Ingrid brought a hand up to her mouth, shielding her laugh. He knew why, she’d always thought it was hideous, and that a knight— such as herself— had no room for it. As much as he wanted to say something to her, he never did. Who was he to talk? Sylvain had been hiding longer than she, as his crest drowned and choked him through the years. 

“Look, if you’re going to bring up—” 

“No. No I’m not.” She shook her head, her hands on her hips. “I’m just saying that someone might get the wrong idea with how intently you’ve been watching Professor and His Highness.” 

Sylvain’s jaw fell as his eyebrows raised. Did it truly look like he was pining after one of them? He had to resist the urge to gag. He was more than happy than to let them enjoy each other's company. 

“I really don’t know why you’re still here. Everyone else is, well, you know. Talking with someone they  _ want _ to.” Ingrid shrugged, rubbing the sides of her arms with her hands. She seemed to grow slightly aware and embarrassed.

“What of you?” Sylvain raised an eyebrow, then quizzically gestured to her. “Are you suggesting that you—”

“Absolutely not!” She shook her head in disbelief, giving Sylvain a punch to the arm. He feigned like it was going to bruise until her glare turned so cold he thought she was going to clobber him with a wine glasses. “You really are insufferable. I don’t know how Felix does it.” 

“Hey! I’m the one who gets picked on all the time!” Sylvain raised his hands in a defensive gesture. “I’m the one you should feel sorry for!” She only huffed and rolled her eyes. Her voice was drowned out as the rider’s eyes followed Byleth and His Highness— who slipped away from the grasp of rosy music and prying eyes. 

The envy struck again, Sylvain’s features falling. He really shouldn’t be jealous, as he was the sole reason he’d been feeling like this, but that doesn’t stop the aching. He felt it in his chest, the twisting soreness that he made himself suffer.

“Excuse me, Ingrid,” Sylvain pressed a hand to her shoulder, making the pegasus knight jump slightly under his touch. He passed her, slipping between her and other guests. He needed to breathe. 

* * *

Sylvain could still hear the music, to be fair he wasn’t too far from the heart of the celebration. It might’ve been his imagination, but he could still smell the waft of food and wine. The former soldier overlooked the forested and mountainous scenery that the monastery had to offer. It was so serene and peaceful, just as it always had been. Even when the monetary was pillaged and raided, left in nothing but crumbles, the life around it still proved to be breathtaking.

He had no idea how long he’d been out here, he’d lost track of the songs. Most of them sounded the same anyways, for all he knew it still could’ve been the same song since he had left the festivities. The paladin heard a shift and then footsteps. As soon as Sylvain turned, he wished he didn’t. 

His Highness was walking down, and Sylvain wondered if it was still too late to hide in some bushes. Though his hesitance got the best of him, and the king took notice of the lone Gautier. He truly wasn’t excited for this conversation, knowing that their discussions were never the most amicable. Not since childhood anyways. 

“Ah, Sylvain, it’s so different to see you without all the armor, I almost didn’t recognize you. I will admit, I’m surprised to see you out here. Did the festivities bore you?” Dimitri inquired, voice devoid of anything accusatory. In fact his voice seemed rather soft. Sylvain shrugged, unsure of how to reply. He was getting really sick of being at a loss for words. Usually he always had something to say, but recently it felt the opposite. That he was scrambling to find them instead.

“Nothing of the sort, truth be told, I really don’t know why I’m out here.” Sylvain’s features shifted from nonchalant to smug. “However, that question should be directed to you. Shouldn’t you be with— ah I don’t know, the professor per say?” 

Dimitri’s face quickly exploded into a red that contrasted against his pale skin. The future leader sputtered, coughing as he glanced off to the side. He and Felix shared that habit, one that no doubt Felix would wring his neck for vocalizing. 

“Unfortunately their attention is currently being occupied by Seteth, he demanded they talk about future roles. With Rhea being…” Dimitri didn’t finish his sentence, but they both knew what the end was. Byleth was to take the mantle as archbishop. Sylvain wondered how Dimitri and Byleth were to faire, considering church and state was what started the war to begin with. “I tried, but Seteth was adamant that it would only take a short time.”

“But I do not think I’ve seen you with Felix all night? Pardon my intrusion—” at least Dimitri admitted he was intruding— “but is something the matter?” 

“Yeah, everything is fine,” Sylvain lied through his teeth. Well everything— as far as Felix was aware— was fine. It was just himself making things more complicated than they needed to be. This time it was the rider who stalled the inevitable meeting. He knew something would slip eventually, and then the swordsman would run. 

The future Margrave shifted where he stood, pursing his lips as the air between the two became awkward. Just like he predicted it would be, it seemed Dimitri’s social skills declined while… while he was  _ away _ .

“How did you do it?” Dimitri suddenly blurted, and sure enough there was a red tinge to his face. Sylvain glanced side to side, a puzzled look over taking his features.

“Do what?”

“Propose.” It came out quieter than Sylvain expected, and he practically had to strain his ears to hear it.

“Excuse me?” Sylvain leaned back, blinking in shock. While he feigned ignorance with Ingrid, he truly had no idea what Dimitri was getting at. 

“Oh? Have you not… uhm, proposed yet?” 

Sylvain swore he choked on his own spit, as now it was his turn to sputter. Where did Dimitri get the idea that he had proposed? Who would he even propose to? He wasn’t even courting anyone, who in— oh.  _ Oh. _ The rider pinched the bridge of his nose, taking in a deep breath as everything fell into place.

“You think I proposed to Felix, didn’t you?” 

“Did you not?” Dimitri’s response was a sufficient answer. When Sylvain’s eyes landed on the king he shook his head. 

“We were never even courting.” 

That seemed to shake Dimitri to his core. The blonde seemed to be stuck between an apology and inquiring about it. He bit down on his bottom lip and scratched the back of his neck. Sylvain probably would’ve been wheezing if it wasn’t for the ache in his chest. The damn thing appeared to be insistent on ruining the whole night. 

“Where did you receive news we were?” Sylvain crossed his arms. He wondered if the women around here got so sick of him that they decided to try and tarnish someone else’s reputation. While the Gautier heir knew his reputation was beyond salvageable, the Fraldarius name did not deserve the same treatment as Felix had no part in this convoluted mess. 

“Byleth, they had mentioned it in passing— Sylvain are you okay?”

The future Margrave felt the blood drain from his face. The professor thought he and Felix had been courting? Certainly not. But the possibility could not be dismissed. It made sense why they offered the advice to him then, if they were attempting to save the relationship they thought was there. 

“Did they tell anyone else?” Sylvain groaned, knowing he should probably clear this up before Felix found out.  _ But if I make it real, then what is there to clean? _ A small part of him echoed, but he pushed it aside. As much as his chest screamed to just make it real, he knew he couldn’t.

“No, not that I’m aware. But truth be told, I always had a hunch. You and Felix…” Dimitri paused, his gaze dropping to his feet. “Well, he always trusted you more than he ever trusted me. As children I envied you.”

Sylvain kept his lips pursed. This was news to him, but then again he never really sought it out before. He knew Felix and Dimitri, after the Tragedy and the quell of a rebellion, didn’t have a good relationship. Even now. As Felix has pushed away many people, scared that he would lose them too. 

“But I now understand why, and I’ve long since lost the envy. Don’t let him slip away, Sylvain.” 

“Are you… suggesting?” Sylvain didn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t need to.

“Whatever way you want to interpret that, it’s up to you. Just don’t lose each other.” The two held eye contact for a moment. It was Dimitri who broke it, his blue eyes softening. 

“I should go, hopefully Seteth is finished with whatever he wanted to speak about.” As the king walked past him, Sylvain had no words that came to mind. But before the footsteps could completely disappear the older called out.

“Good luck, Your Highness.”

“Thank you, Sylvain. You too.” 

When Dimitri had retreated, Sylvain once again was left with his thoughts. He knew the ache in his chest wouldn’t stop, even after this party, even after a week. If he let it, it would remain the rest of his life until he died. But what right did he have? To Felix, he was simply just a close friend, one of— if not  _ the _ only— close friends Felix had. Certainly if Sylvain confessed, if he rattled off every detail with vivid description, the swordsman would find it as a betrayal. 

He didn’t want to think of a future where Felix ran because of him. That he lost his place beside the Fraldarius’ side. It was why he didn’t let Felix leave things behind during their fall out, because if Sylvain let him leave without trying to gain his favor back, then he would watch as apart of him left with the shorter. Even if he had to silently suffer, if he watched Felix move on with someone else, he would be okay as long as the sole Fraldarius was still in reach. As long as he could see amber eyes, and stand by his side, he would be okay. Or that’s what he tried to convince himself he was going to be.

There was no way he was going to burn everything in a selfish desire. Not this time. 

* * *

How long could parties possibly go on for? Well on into the night apparently, granted there were less people around. As much as the heart of the celebration was suffocating, it was more so outside. As the fresh air— which was  _ supposed _ to be relaxing— left him to his thoughts. Dimitri’s subtle suggestion echoed in his mind, no matter how much he wanted to run away from it. Or chase it away, whatever it took to get it out of his head. Felix was his best friend, and just because they made a promise as children by no means gave him a right to remain by Felix’s side greedily.

He wanted to vomit from all the nauseating feelings. So he did what he did best, and procrastinated on those thoughts. Such a beautiful night shouldn’t be weighed down. Such a beautiful night shouldn’t be spent alone, but the future Margrave has always managed to pull off the unexpected. 

“Sylvain? Sylvain is that you?” Mercedes’ soft voice rang in his ear, much like a bell. It was alleviating, as she chased away the swarming thoughts and provided clarity. “Oh it is you!” She chimed, a smile gracing her features. 

“What brings you around here, Mercedes?” Sylvain placed a hand on his hip and gestured to the gremory. 

“Just walking, the celebration room is getting rather hot.” She reasoned, her hands folded in front of her. Suddenly she turned to him and her blue eyes knocked down his walls once again, just like she had from what seemed like forever ago.

“Why aren’t you with Annette?” Sylvain thought that surely the healer would want to spend time with the other, considering how close they were. Yet Gilbert’s aforementioned daughter was nowhere to be seen. 

“Oh! Well Annie had business elsewhere, to be honest I’m not too sure where she got to.” Mercedes chirped, then remained silent. She hesitated, and he could practically hear her indecision on whether or not she should ask whatever was sitting on her tongue. “I once told you I would protect you, right? That I would be here for you?” 

“Yeah, I do remember that. I also remember saying you were a very special lady,” Sylvain tried to chuckle, but it came out weak and died half way out his lips. 

“I thought I noticed something, months ago in the infirmary, but this confirms it. That sad smile… what’s plaguing you Sylvain?” Her words weren’t forceful, and they were rather coaxing in nature. She truly was a blessing of a friend, one he didn’t understand how he deserved. 

“In all fairness, I don’t think this  _ plague  _ is something you can cure.” 

“Nonsense,” she shook her head, guiding him to a bench. She sat first and patted the seat next to her. “Now tell me what’s going on.” 

“I don’t know where to start,” Sylvain had a feeling Mercedes already had a hint of what was happening. She wasn’t a dolt, she probably saw the signs of what was going on by now. 

“It’s about Felix, right?” Her head tilted, eyes as innocent as ever. Sylvain only had to glance at her and she knew. 

“Right on the nail,” Sylvain gritted, as if it pained him physically, “yeah. Yeah, it’s about him.”  _ It’s always about him _ . 

“Well, specifically  _ what _ about him?” 

“I’m just, I’m confused— poor choice of words. I’m not so much confused as—” The Gautier heir struggled, grasping at the air as if he could pluck words from it.

“As you are scared.” It wasn’t a suggestion, she was finishing his sentence without hesitation. She was right, and it baffled Sylvain. Was he that readable to her? To everyone around here? 

“I understand, I would be scared to loose Annie too,” she offered, but despite her intention the rider felt something snap.

“No, you don’t Mercedes, as far as I’m aware you’re not trying to convince yourself that you aren’t in love with your best friend since childhood.” Sylvain got up off the bench and began pacing before the healer. The cavalry unit gestured with his hands as he paced, no longer able to remain still. “And Dim— His Highness— didn’t help, and the  _ worst  _ part? He thought that Felix and I were engaged, and I not only entertained the thought, but  _ enjoyed _ it! Either way you don’t have to fight a losing battle.”

“Because— because if Felix knew… he would run and probably never come around again. And if I  _ didn’t  _ tell him then I would have to silently suffer and watch as he chose someone else.” The more he spoke, the more Sylvain’s voice waivered. This always seemed to happen when Mercedes pulled him aside. He just silently hoped there wouldn’t be waterworks.

“If you don’t tell him, then you’ll forever wonder what would’ve happened if you did.” Mercedes seemed far too calm, her hands neatly folded in her lap as she watched a listen. Sylvain knew a part of her words resonated true, but part of him was too focused on the fact he admitted— aloud— he was in love with the blue haired swordsman. 

“I just, I  _ can’t  _ lose him Mercedes,” Sylvain swallowed, feeling his voice betray him and start to lose its structure. 

“How do you know he’ll run if you tell him?” Her soft voice suddenly gained the form of a sharpened dagger, piercing through his intrusive thoughts with few words. Yet as she tore his thoughts down, her voice held nothing hostile or accusatory. It was just her natural caring and motherly tone she extended to everyone, regardless of how well she knew them.

“He always runs at the idea of marriage, it’s what he does. I’ve never seen him with a woman— or guy— ever.” The rider shrunk where he stood, crossing her arms over his chest. Mercedes remained silent for a minute, but then her eyes returned to him once again. 

“I think you were always looking at the wrong time.” Her lips quirked upwards in a melancholy smile. 

“You have to try, Sylvain. If you don’t then you’ll hate yourself for it, and regret it.” She shook her head once again. “I would hate to bare witness to that regret. Don’t give yourself another reason to beat yourself up.”

Sylvain had no words left to say, his mouth was dry and his throat seemed angry despite the minimal talking he’d done through the night. Hazel eyes dropped to his boots, they were simple and looked much like his riding boots. He saw no reason to dress up overly festive for this event, he was too tired to even try. Then again he was too tired to do what everyone expected him to do, the man who was always toying with women. He hadn’t even danced with a single maiden the entirety this party has spanned. 

“Stop overthinking, it’s not you. Go, Sylvain.”

“But I don’t even have a ring? I mean what right do I have?” Sylvain scattered, panic returning to his face. “Besides— my family, they would—”

“We fought this whole war to pursue our side of beliefs, right?” Mercedes’ eyebrows furrowed in a rare look of something akin to annoyance. “We all deserve to chase our happiness and peace. You know you’re happiest when… when you’re by his side. Stop trying to find a reason to ruin that for yourself.” 

She finally stood and walked over to him, she placed her hands on his back and gave him a light shove forward. When he stumbled to catch his weight, he grinned and got the message. 

“Okay, okay, I’m going.” Sylvain took a couple of slow steps backwards, facing Mercedes. He held up his arms in defeat, never losing the grin on his face. However, while he smiled as he walked, the anxiety pooled in his gut. He had nothing, no ring, no practiced words, he just had himself and that never seemed to be good enough for the swordsman. He couldn’t shake the worst case scenarios, even if he had been soothed.

“Allow yourself to smile Sylvain, genuinely.” Mercedes waved to him, an enthusiastic tone in her voice. “Tell me how it goes!”

He gave her a nod and turned. 

* * *

_ Funny,  _ Sylvain mused as he leaned down and picked up a sliced lock. He tossed it aside, the metal clanking against the ground. His eyes wandered the darkened training grounds, taking in the details he never had the time to take in before.  _ They tried to lock this place up despite knocking Felix would bust in, at least they tried.  _

It didn’t take long before Sylvain was close enough to hear the shorter’s swing of a sword, and the grunts that would accompany them. Despite the time that’s aged this room, time hadn’t managed to age the sole Fraldarius. He remained as testy as ever, the same habits he had even as a student. He never changed, even as time passed him by. The paladin found it nice to have someone who stayed constant, as it grounded him to reality. Or maybe it was because he, too, never really changed and he was scared everyone would eventually leave as they all changed. 

“We gotta stop meeting like this,” Sylvain placed a hand on his hip. He offered an over dramatic sigh as he gestured to the swordsman who had paused mid swing. “The war’s over and here you are, out here and swinging your sword like a madman. You know there’s plenty of people who would like to speak with you, right?” 

“War might be over, but the fighting certainly isn’t. There’s going to be rebellions, other reasons to raise a sword.” Felix scoffed, exasperated that once again Sylvain had become an interruption for training. Yet he’d seemed to learn his lesson from last time, and had sheathed the sword instead of leaving the blade open. “And how should I celebrate? Dance around with the women until they all reject me like you? No thanks.”

“Aw come on, Felix. I’m certain Ingrid would love to talk with you.” 

“Certainly not about any palatable topics,” Felix retorted, nose twitching slightly. 

“Am I not a good enough reason to come back to the party?” Sylvain placed a hand on his chest in a mock offense. “Fine, fine, well, there’s plenty of food that’s yet to be eaten. Free meal.” 

“I’m not Ingrid or a wild animal, I don’t run to the call of food.” Felix stated firmly, brow raised expectantly. He was going to need a better reason for Sylvain sticking around, and the cavalier unit was finding a hard time giving him one. The taller bit his tongue as he remained quiet for a moment. He couldn’t put this off any longer.

“Hey... Felix, what’re you gonna do now?” With the war’s end, Felix wouldn’t have a rhyme or reason to continue his sword swinging. And Sylvain knew that Felix was the last of house Fralderius. He really hoped Felix wouldn’t disappear into the night, he prayed to whatever goddess was actually real that this wouldn’t be the last time they talk. _ Don’t go somewhere I can’t follow, Felix. _

The thought of Felix rushing around, throwing himself at whatever he could fight, it irked Sylvain. While Felix tried to push away and deny that he didn’t need Sylvain’s help, all the times that he had rushed in on his horse and ended up wounded in the other’s stead said otherwise. He swallowed awkwardly as he remembered the promise they made as children, the promise he was fully intent on keeping.

Though he wasn’t sure if Felix shared the same sentiment with him still. 

He didn’t know if he could take it, hearing about Felix’s death days, weeks, months even— however long it was— Sylvain didn’t know if he could take it. He could spend his days wondering if the swordsman was still alive out there somewhere, wandering with a now lost purpose. 

The Gautier heir could see the shift in emotion on the other’s face. It wasn’t a topic to be expected from Sylvain, and they had never discussed what would’ve happened had they both made it. Assuming they both did make it, but now they were here. 

“I don’t know, truth be told. As there’s no need of a soldier in times of peace.” Felix crossed his arms over his chest, shifting his weight as he pondered. “I might become a mercenary, continue the training. I might help the boar, all Fódlan knows he needs it, not that he would take my word over the Professor’s.”

“I have nothing left here,” Felix stated, but he held no sorrow in his voice. He shrugged, too lax for Sylvain’s liking considering the topic. “And what of you? What’re you to do?”

Sylvain rubbed the side of his arm. He should’ve guessed— he should’ve known that Felix would want to run off. The red haired knight bit down on his tongue, swallowing his words.  _ Me, you have me. Don’t leave _ . There was an ache in his chest, and Sylvain could guess why. Yet the rider stood and listened, really only seeming to move when Felix directed the question to him. 

“Oh? Me? Well, what choice do I have? My parents obviously expect me to take up the mantle of Margrave and have some crest children running around.” Sylvain snorted, bringing his hands up behind his head, leaning back and shifting his weight. The bitterness and sarcasm saturated his words, and he was sure even Petra would understand what he was saying. He wanted to gag hearing that sentence as it came from his own mouth. Yet his tone lightened when he saw Felix’s face scrunch up too. It was almost easy to forget how much the Fraldarius hated crests.

Those born with a Crest didn’t have the luxury life most people imagined. It’s suffocating, and Sylvain wished he had the courage to run away all that time ago. He wished he could’ve left it all behind. The Crests, his family, his supposed responsibilities, to hell with it all. He abhorred the Crests and everything they wrought. He never wanted any of it. Yet... he never wanted to leave Felix, or any of his friends behind. Not after what all of them have been through.

“You have a lot of choices now, don’t you?” Felix looked almost looked confused, and it was evident in his voice. “You’re free to do what you want. Meanwhile… I don’t know, there’s no point in going back to House Fraldarius. There’s nothing left, nothing of worth.”

“I’m sure there’s more for you here,” Sylvain tried, he highly doubted he could get Felix to stay just for him. But if he gave him... other reasons to stay, then maybe he wouldn’t have to say goodbye. Yet the taller found his selfish desires falling from his mouth, he deserved to do something for himself for once. Not because his family wanted it, not because his crest dictated it, but because he  _ chose  _ it.

“I mean, if you leave, who’s job is it going to be? To stop me from doing all the unfavorable ‘carousing with women’ and ‘impetuous escapades’ that is. Truth be told,” Sylvain extended an arm to the other in gesture. “I much prefer you call me incorrigible— or what ever abusive i-word you come up with— rather than Ingrid coming after me, or His Highness trying to strike a bargain.” The older shook his head as he recalled Dimitri bursting into his room one night to escape the grasp of a maiden who he had invited to dinner. 

“Do you think I enjoy finding you stuck in the situations you so recklessly stick yourself in?” Felix derided, eyes narrowing. “If that’s what’s waiting for me here, I’d rather not. No thanks.”

“I guess what I’m trying to say is... Felix, you should stay with me.” Sylvain gave a chuckle that bubbled out of his lips, more out of nervousness than happiness. His eyes glanced from side to side and he almost wanted to eat his words when he saw Felix’s eyes narrow even more. 

“Excuse me? What do you mean?” 

“What other meaning does the phrase ‘stay with me’ have? I mean stay here,” Sylvain paused, he was pretty sure it wasn’t the literal meaning Felix inquired about. “With me.” 

The more Sylvain went on, the more he realized that he was underprepared for this. The words became harder to say, his face had started to become flushed. But it was too late now, and if he didn’t do it now, then he’d never try again. 

“When it comes to you, it can mean a lot of things.” Felix blandly settled. Yet when he rolled his eyes, the taller could see the exasperation. 

“Look Felix, you can tell me to shut up and leave whenever—” 

“Okay. Leave.” 

“Felix!” Sylvain scrunched his brows. But his features softened when Felix gave an uncharacteristic chuckle. It left the paladin speechless, and he struggled to recollect himself. He hadn’t heard the swordsman chuckle in so long, he had forgotten how the ring of it sounded. 

“Sorry. Couldn’t resist, do continue.” Felix gestured to where Sylvain stood, then retracted his hand. The taller could only blink for a moment before he remembered where he was. 

“Right. Well, during these past few months,” Sylvain’s voice softened, barely above a whisper. He knew his face probably had a warm hue to it now, but he couldn’t stop here. “I’ve realized that I didn’t necessarily fight by your side because I wanted to protect you. It was because— ” 

“Don’t say things you could regret, Sylvain.” Felix sneered, yet Sylvain pressed on.

“—Because I wanted to spend more time with you. And I know a battlefield isn’t the best place, but every time I tried  _ off _ the battlefield, you would reject me for the training grounds.” Sylvain murmured unsure where he was going, but he knew where he wanted to get to.

To his surprise, the other stayed relatively quiet after that, just shifting his weight ever so often. But he didn’t exactly look enthusiastic about this either, just his usual unreadable resting face. It chipped away at Sylvain’s pride and he felt himself giving in.

“You've allowed me the pleasure of fighting by your side, but would you allow me the pleasure of walking by your side?” The Gautier heir took bold strides and stood before the swordsman, before delicately taking the other’s hands in his own. They were new scars and callouses from years of battles and training, but Sylvain could still find the ones from when they were climbing trees in Fhirdiad and all the other things that was dangerous for young children.

When hazel eyes looked up and met amber, he immediately noticed how embarrassed Felix had grown in the passing moments.

“How long did you spend thinking about that?” Was Felix’s only response, and Sylvain really didn’t know how he should’ve taken it. His eyes simply dropped to their hands, running a thumb against the shorter’s knuckles.

“Longer than either of us could ever know.” A smile was quick to grace his lips. “I know I’m definitely late—”

“As you always are,” Felix quipped, yet nonetheless he shuffled somewhat closer to the other. He didn’t let it stop him however.

“But I love you, Felix, truly.” Sylvain let his forehead rest against Felix’s, eyes closing as he tried to stabilize himself. “I realized it back in Fhirdiad, when we took back the capital months ago. But I’m sure I loved you even before that.” 

Felix’s silence was unsettling, and when Sylvain leaned back to glance at the swordsman he almost melted. The shorter’s face had exploded into a burning red, eyes averted as he was obviously dwelling on something. While the rider longed to hear the words returned to him, in a genuine tone, he knew Felix would have a hard time admitting them aloud. 

“Is this your plan to get me to stay then?” Felix grumbled, his voice returning to it’s usual tone. But it quickly thawed away into something softer, a tone Sylvain hadn’t heard him take before. “Cause… cause it’s stupidly working, you imprudent philanderer.”

“I hope so, I don’t know what I’d do if you left.” Sylvain couldn’t help the chortle that slipped into his words. It was hard enough to hold back the sugar filtered words he often used with women, he supposed it was okay to allow himself to laugh. The rider let go of the swordsman’s hand, arms slipping under Felix’s and tugging the other into an embrace. “I mean it Felix. Really.” 

“I get it. You’ve said it already, you halfwit.” Felix grumbled into the rider’s shoulder. He remained still for a moment, arms uselessly hanging until they hesitantly found their way up around Sylvain. 

“I’m only gonna say this once. I love you too, for awhile now but of course your simplistic mind never saw.” His words barely made it to the rider’s ears, but when they did he felt something in his chest ache, but not in a bad way. In a way that Sylvain hadn’t felt before, in a way he couldn’t describe no matter how many times it happened. 

“And you believe me?” Sylvain was rather shocked that Felix hadn’t stormed out, or just plainly stated that he didn’t believe him. As honestly that was what he had been expecting this whole time.

“What reason have you given me to not?” 

“But all the times I—”

“Don’t give me a reason to take my words back.” Felix interrupted, and for once Sylvain stopped. With one last tight squeeze, he pulled back, unsure of what to say.

“I, uhm, don’t have a ring but I can make you a new promise for now.” 

“Oh? Of course you didn’t plan ahead, and just when I thought…” Felix brought a hand to run through his bangs, shaking his head. But Sylvain could hear the humor in the other’s voice. The paladin held out his hand, little finger extended like all those years ago when they were small children, scared of the future ahead. 

“Are you actually five?” Felix’s face finally scowled once again, but waited expectantly for the promise. 

“I’m gonna spend the rest of our days trying to make you happy. Even if it means sparring with you early in the morning or late at night. I promise. From here on out it’s you and me.” Sylvain felt his cheeks aching from how much he was smiling. He noticed the crease of the swordsman’s lips, using his own little finger to meet with the rider’s.

“I’ll hold you to that.” Felix attempted to grumble, but his flushed face and soft voice took away all the aggression. Sylvain couldn’t help the cackle that slipped from his lips. 

“You better, or who else will?”

**Author's Note:**

> My first longer piece! I will try to update this as much as I can, as I also have a more humorous fic in the works ;;; 
> 
> Regardless, I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! I'm so sorry if a character seems ooc, I'm not too familiar with the Blue Lions. I'm really only familiar with how Felix and Sylvain behave, I'm trying,,, to work on Ingrid.


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